


Forbidden Fruit Fairytales

by AnneScriblerian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Drug Addiction, Dubious Consent, Implied Incest, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:22:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneScriblerian/pseuds/AnneScriblerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of works from 2009. </p><p>A "fairytale-ending" isn't always what you would think.</p><p>Harry learns something upsetting about Draco and runs away. He finds comfort in the most unlikely place. Draco does, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Make Lemonade

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This series was the second bit of fanfiction I wrote. Back then I didn't feel comfortable creating my own narratives, so I based everything on traditional tales and poems. Any notes about the original fairytales will be at the end of each section.

Harry would never agree if he knew the truth. He loved having Draco under his control, and as he could not love Draco, that would have to be enough. If Harry knew that every stroke of his hand, every caress of his lips or tongue, every thrust of his prick against Draco's made his lover feel a pain like sharp knives, he would never touch Draco again. And then Draco would cease to exist; he would melt into clouds or sea foam as gray as his eyes.

It wasn't Harry's fault, and it wasn't Harry's doing. Draco had only himself to blame. Well, himself and his father. "Pride must suffer pain" was the elder Malfoy's fondest maxim. "Spare the rod and spoil the child" was not only unforgivably Mugglish, but was counter to Lucius's aims. According to Lucius, Draco was to be spoiled, and proud, and to suffer. Well, thought Draco often, with a grim smile, two out of three isn't bad.

The first time that Draco had felt a twinge in his groin during one of his father's "correction sessions," Lucius had known instantly. That feeling of exposure was worse than the confusion and shame that Draco had felt at the impudence of his own cock. Lucius had said nothing, but had forced the potion down Draco's throat. The potion that had become Draco's worst nightmare and most reliable source of pleasure. He no longer even wondered what it would be like to feel pleasure without it. Not often, anyway. _Crocodilus Lacrimas_. "Crocodile Tears." How fitting. A perfect potion for a Malfoy.

The potion was most often used during interrogation. On the person being interrogated. It made erections stronger and longer-lasting, with the unfortunate side effect that these magically enhanced erections made one's prick feel as if it were being stabbed with fine blades. It allowed the user to reach the ultimate extremes of pleasure and pain. Only climax could end it, and it was devilishly hard to achieve whilst under the influence of the potion. Devilishly hard, indeed.

Draco often wondered if his father had anticipated the effect of so thoroughly mixing arousal and agony in his son. Lucius was notoriously cruel, and even Draco didn't know the limits of that cruelty. Or perhaps there were no limits, and his father had done this to him on purpose. When it was necessary for him to think well of his father, and thus most of the time, he told himself that Lucius had wanted to discourage his son's excitement during punishment, that the potion was meant to be a deterrent. That it was undignified for a Malfoy to become aroused by pain, by the actions of his own father. So the potion must have been meant to _discourage_ arousal. Right? On the rare occasions when Draco allowed himself to see the truth about his father and himself, he knew better.

Whatever the reason, now, five years after his first taste of the treacherous _Lacrimas_ , Draco was well and truly hooked. He could barely even wank successfully without it, and even then he caused himself quite a lot of damage trying to replicate the effects of the potion through crude physical means. Half the time he couldn't even come that way. But when he was with Harry . . .

Draco's nurse had read him the Muggle fairytales over and over. The Brothers Grimm were lovely, so many bones and so much blood and so many punishments. But Hans Christian Anderson's tales had a poetic quality that taught Draco much about the beauty of language. It had also taught him about the power inherent in sacrifice. If Draco was fated to long for the red and gold and the sun and the ivory and black of the forbidden prince, as was the littlest mermaid, and if he was doomed to suffer for every moment that he enjoyed these things, as she did, well, that was the way it was. She lost her prince when she gave up her voice. Draco had given up his voice, and most of himself, to Lucius years ago. But Harry was his.

That's what he kept telling himself, anyway. Harry was restless lately. It was especially bad whenever he had a detention with Professor Snape, which was pretty often, actually. Before each detention Harry would inevitably waylay Draco in the halls, throw his invisibility cloak over him, and drag him off to the closest corner or alcove. It had gotten to the point where the feeling of cloth being thrown over his head and of being restrained raised no fear in Draco at all. It was probably not wise, and it was certainly not very Slytherin of him. Being "kidnapped" in this way always raised something else in (or rather on) Draco, instead. The worst of it was that he never had time to take his potion before it happened. It was a very illegal substance and even Draco Malfoy could not risk having such a thing found on his person. 

Just this afternoon in double Potions, Harry had defended Longbottom. That near-Squib had been the center of more than a few fights between Draco and his Gryffindor lover. The impulse to defend the weak, even as they dragged you down with them, was foreign to Malfoy and Slytherin alike. If he didn't know better, Draco would suspect that Harry was goading Snape on purpose, _trying_ to get detention. But if he was trying to get detentions, Harry certainly reacted oddly to them. 

Draco was walking his rounds as Prefect, near the Hufflepuff dorms, once again pondering why Harry would whip their Potions professor into a frenzy on purpose. Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind. His breath caught in his throat as the familiar runes visible on the inside of Harry's invisibility cloak flashed before his eyes and he was dragged backwards. Harry seemed especially impatient today. Draco had barely been able to gasp before he was dragged through a portrait hole. When Harry whipped the cloak off of them both, Draco realized that they were in the kitchens.

He lost his breath again when Harry leaned against the wall and pushed Draco down onto his knees.

"Harry! The kitchen elves . . ."

"Draco! Do you really think that the kitchen elves are going to question 'the great Harry Potter'? Why don't you just stop worrying and be a good little elf yourself. You know what to do."

Draco did know what to do. And, despite himself, the thought of servicing Potter in full sight of a kitchen full of kitchen elves was actually making him harder, even without the potion. 'I guess humiliation is pretty close to pain,' he mused. Harry was losing patience, he was actually beginning to undo his own trousers. That made Draco come to his senses, and he batted Harry's hand away. That was his job.

And it, all of it, was a job he did well. Never let it be said that Draco Malfoy was not a perfectionist. The fact that he was incapable of attaining orgasm without his potion (his crutch, his shackle, his scourge, his life itself) just allowed him to focus more thoroughly on Harry's pleasure. He instantly responded to each breath, each twitch, each sigh of his lover's with the desired action. He had always had good instincts in this area, and his careful study of Harry's anatomy and his reactions had made him a virtuoso. 

Today was no day for gentleness. Harry was clearly aroused by the situation. Draco, thank Merlin, had his back to the kitchen, but when he glanced up at Harry's face, right before he pulled the Gryffindor's trousers and pants down around his ankles, he saw that Harry had his eyes wide open. And he was not looking down at Draco. 'So that's how this is going to go...' Draco thought. Maybe today he could push Potter to give him what he really wanted.

Draco was not so lucky. He did his best to antagonize his lover. Instead of cradling Harry's balls, and rolling them gently in his hand, as Harry loved, he cruelly pinched them. Harry did grunt his displeasure, but instead of retaliating he simply grasped Draco's wrists and held them above Draco's head. Draco struggled a bit, but Harry held him in an strong grasp that was somehow, maddeningly, still tender. Being denied the use of his hands was an added debasement, and Draco was aware that the entire staff of kitchen elves was probably overjoyed to see a Malfoy in such a position. He started to get a little more enthusiastic about this new game of Harry's.

Draco started drooling almost immediately, not daring to take his lips off of Harry's cock at any time for fear of it straining out of the reach of his mouth, held as he was. His lover didn't seem to mind. In fact, Harry lost control faster than he ever had before. Unfortunately for Draco, Harry was still damnably gentle. Even when he started to fuck Draco's mouth in earnest, he was polite about it. Draco could still breathe, for Merlin's sake. 

Harry came in record time, slumped back against the kitchen wall and released Draco's hands. When Draco caught his breath, he decided that he was surprised. He had never really figured Harry for an exhibitionist. But perhaps Harry had become one out of necessity. It actually would be a clever survival tactic for The Boy Who Lived, as he was never allowed to be "The Boy Who Had a Private Life of His Own, Thank You Very Much" anyway. Might as well make the best of it. Despite his frustration at the brevity of the encounter, Draco was rather proud of his lover. It was almost Slytherin of Harry to adapt in this way. Draco's pride deflated a bit as he realized that he would be the perfect person to know how this transmutation of a necessity into a pleasure worked. But, as that half-breed Hagrid often said, "When life gives 'e lemons, make lemonade." Harry had had to tell Draco what "Lemonade" was. Apparently it was a bit like pumpkin juice, but more piquant. 'Sweet and tart, like you, my little bed elf,' Harry had said. 

As Harry rushed off to his detention, Draco turned around carefully and held his head high. Harry might call him an elf, and he might in fact behave like one for his lover, but there was no excuse for the actual house elves to disrespect the scion of the Malfoy line. Luckily for him, and for them, house elves were not as stupid as wizards thought they were. There was no sign that any of the kitchen elves were, or had been, looking in his direction. Except for Dobby. That bloody traitorous thing didn't look scornful, however. Draco sneered at the tears in Dobby's eyes and gave his cape with an extra flourish as he turned on his heel and followed Harry out of the kitchens.

Draco knew what to expect after Harry's detention with the Potions professor. He waited in the secret room in the dungeons that only the Malfoys and their followers knew about. Whether Harry was Draco's follower was certainly in doubt. Draco only knew that he would follow Harry anywhere, would sacrifice anything for him. And he was ready, now. He had had his potion.

Harry stormed into the room, even more agitated than he usually was after an evening session in Snape's classroom. He didn't even greet Draco, but simply cast a disrobing spell on them both, and shoved his lover back onto the large four-poster bed. Draco gasped, but it was not simply from being so unceremoniously dumped onto his back. Harry's rough treatment had already made him hard, and the divine pain was there, drawing even more blood to his cock. When Harry flicked his wand angrily once more, Draco found himself bound, spread-eagled, to the four posts of the bed, with red and gold silk. He opened his mouth and began, "Harry...". He was not even sure what he was going to say.

"I've had enough talking from Slytherins tonight, thank you, Mr. Malfoy," Harry snarled. He bent down and picked up Draco's own House tie. He knotted it in the middle, thrust the knot into Draco's mouth, and used his wand to fasten it around Draco's head. Even during this unprecedented show of dominance, however, Harry's handling of Draco was tender. It was as though the Gryffindor thought Draco was breakable. Draco was breakable, he really, really was. But Harry refused to break him. It was hell. Draco hated it and loved it and couldn't live without it.

The potion did its work, and Draco got the pain he needed, despite Harry's refusal to knowingly hurt him. It was so confusing, really. Even for someone as clever as Draco. Harry was gentle because Draco was hard for so long, and had such strong orgasms when he was treated this way. Sometimes Harry could fuck him twice before Draco came. Harry surely thought that his light touch was the reason that Draco was so obviously, egregiously turned-on. And Draco wished that he could tell Harry that if he would just hurt him already, maybe he could get over his addiction to the _Lacrimas_. But he knew that if he begged Harry to hurt him his lover would look at him with horror, with revulsion even. Harry was a hero. He didn't know that by being so noble he was hurting Draco almost more than the Slytherin could bear.

At least he had these nights. These detention nights Harry was so angry at Snape that he was rougher than usual with his lover. It was still nothing at all like Draco wanted, but it was closer. And Harry was less likely to notice that Draco's cries were pretty far over the edge of ecstasy into torment. Draco almost thought that Professor Snape knew he was doing Draco a favor with his harassment of Harry. After all, it was Snape who provided Draco with the _Crocodilus Lacrimas_. 

The Professor never spoke of it after the first time, years ago, when Draco had threatened to go searching in Knockturn Alley if Snape wouldn't give him the potion. He knew that Snape would not allow any Slytherin, let alone the son of his oldest friend, to shame himself in such a way. Snape's cold, unmoving face, and his silence as he handed Draco these vials of bliss, of torture, was surely the man's greatest gift to the boy. Until recently, that is, when he so thoroughly wound Harry up and set him loose on Draco. Draco really did appreciate Professor Snape, more than he could (or ever would, he thought) say.

Tonight was unprecedented. Harry had tied Draco up on numerous occasions, obviously. But he had never gagged him. And he had never had quite that fire in his eyes before. Draco's eyes, gray as a stormy sea, were locked on Harry's, as green as the ocean in winter. Draco could feel the pulse of Harry's anger, and silently implored him to finally show it. Harry's rage was like an iceberg, barely visible on the surface, but huge and deadly under the cover of those cold green eyes. Harry read the look in Draco's eyes incorrectly, however, and became even more gentle. Draco thought that this time he really might die from the slow torture to which his lover unknowingly subjected him.

It seemed like it would never end. Harry took full advantage of Draco's inability to goad him into action. Usually Draco could hurry Harry along, regardless of whatever the Gryffindor thought he wanted, just by cajoling and taunting him. With the knotted tie in his mouth, however, he could only moan. And no matter how much Draco moaned, Harry refused to hurry. He touched every inch of Draco's body, and then he licked everywhere that he had touched. The entire time Draco's prick burned, and ached, and the knives stabbed and twisted until he thought the bloody thing would fall off. Harry seemed to take Draco's moans for pleasure, and did nothing to relieve his lover's agony. By the time Harry released the bonds holding Draco's legs apart, the Slytherin was to weak to use his legs to pull Harry close. Draco couldn't even move, he was at once so rigid and so limp from the maddening pain in his cock. Harry lifted Draco's legs gently, slowly, and pulled them over his shoulders. 

When Harry finally plunged into Draco, they were both crying. Draco was beyond confused now. He couldn't imagine why _Harry_ was crying. He was crying from relief, and when Harry once again mistook his tears and started to pull out Draco gather all his strength and lowered his legs from Harry's shoulders, wrapped them around his waist, and pulled the Gryffindor back into him as hard as he could. Harry looked shocked, and his tears actually increased. But he kept pounding into Draco, obeying the pull of Draco's thighs even as he wept. When they both came, Harry released Draco's hands from their bonds and threw himself down next to Draco. Draco lay there, stunned, while Harry buried his face in a pillow and continued to sob. Draco's tears had stopped when his orgasm finally released him from the torture of the phantom knives, but Harry's outburst seemed as if it would never end.

Draco slowly got up and found his wand. He tried to whisper the loosening spell for the tie that still gagged him as quietly as possible, but Harry still somehow heard him over his sobs, and sat up.

"Oh Merlin, Draco. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I forgot that. I just... I just..."

"Harry. Harry. It's fine. I'm fine. I'm worried about _you_."

At this Harry rolled back onto his front and commenced sobbing into the pillow again. If Draco had thought he was confused earlier, he didn't know what to call his current state of mind. Counfounded without a spell, perhaps. He gingerly climbed back on the bed and began to pat Harry's back awkwardly. Malfoys were not in the habit of offering comfort, even to their lovers. He was shocked when Harry stiffened and rolled away from him.

"Don't, Draco. Just... don't." Harry rolled to his feet and began to dress himself as quickly as he could, still sniffling.

"What's going on?" Draco's voice was cold. He was damned if anyone, even Harry bloody Potter, was going to run away from him after sex twice in one day. Harry didn't respond. Draco's voice was now as sharp as a blade, "Potter, if you leave this room without telling me what's going on I will never let you touch me again."

When Harry looked up at him, no potion could come close to the stab to Draco's heart at that moment. Harry looked relieved. The Gryffindor finished dressing, turned, and left the room. 

Draco had thought he wanted Harry to break him. It turned out that wasn't what he wanted. Not at all.

*******************************

One month after the Leaving Feast, Harry was married to another. Draco, of necessity, participated in the ceremony. There was nothing else he could do. Nothing he could say. He felt as though his tongue had been cut out, like the Littlest Mermaid's had been. He assisted as necessary for the ritual, smiled and kissed each partner in the happy couple, then turned and walked away. He told himself that no one had seen him stumble, and that he had maintained a dignified expression. He didn't give a fuck whether or not that was actually true.

Professor Snape was by the bar, already holding a glass of Scotch, neat. He sipped from it as his hooded eyes watched Draco approach. Before Draco could open his mouth to order a drink, Snape addressed him.

"Draco, I would take it as a great favor if you would walk with me. I have not seen this gardens this season."

The shock of being addressed by his first name by his professor... his ex-professor... by Severus Snape lowered Draco's guard enough for Snape to be able to grasp his arm and march him out of the lighted tent and into the darkening gardens.

When Draco spared a longing glance back at the bar, Snape simply grasped his arm tighter and walked faster into the gloom. When they were quite a ways away from the wedding tent, Snape stopped walking and conjured a ball of witch light. He did not let go of Draco's arm. In fact, he grasped the boy's other arm and pulled him close. Draco looked up into Snape's endless black eyes, gobsmacked. Snape took advantage of the boy's open mouth and descended upon it in a cruel kiss. Draco almost swooned as his lips were bitten, his tongue was viciously sucked, and Snape's hands tangled in his hair and pulled. 'Merlin's balls,' Draco thought, 'I'm as hard as a rock.' That was his last coherent thought for quite some time.

Afterward, Severus pulled Draco up off of the ground. As he healed the cuts and abrasions the gravel had left on the boy's chest, cock and thighs, Severus explained some things. Severus Snape had invented _Crocodilus Lacrimas_. He knew exactly how addictive it was. He told Draco that he would help him; he had been working on an antidote. Draco thought, privately, that perhaps an antidote would not even be necessary. He had wanted to be reduced to sea foam, to air. And he had finally found the man who could do it.


	2. Beauty is a Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry caught his breath and opened his eyes, what he saw made him smile.

"Liar," spat out Harry Potter.

Professor Snape whirled to face him. Harry braced himself, almost expecting a blow. The shock he felt when he saw what looked like a genuine smile on the Potion Master's face was actually more painful than a left hook would have been.

"How perceptive, Mr. Potter. I am almost tempted to award points to Gryffindor for your unprecedented use of your intelligence. My mendacity, alas, has no bearing on the current situation. I assure you that in this case I speak nothing but the truth."

Harry was not aware that he was shaking his head back and forth frantically. It was not until he realized that the keening noise filling Snape's office was coming from him that he fell to his knees and buried his head in his hands. Gods, no. No. He would never hurt anyone on purpose. Especially not someone who trusted him. Especially not Draco.

Why he believed Snape, he would never know. He hated the man, of course. He hated him with the ferocity of a, well, not a woman, but a would-be-lover scorned. From the moment Harry had begun to fantasize about matters of the flesh, from the first time that his straining imagination reached out beyond pure physical sensation, late at night safe in his dormitory bed, red velvet curtains drawn, it was Snape who filled his mind. He saw the Potion Master's long, stained fingers. He heard his cruel whispers, sibilant and almost, almost hot against Harry's ear. He looked into his black eyes, promising endless draughts of oblivion. Oh gods, his voice when he was angry... But despite the man's slipperiness, his cruelty, his damnable sexiness, and his thrice-damnable refusal to touch any of his students, let alone "The Boy Who Lived," Harry did trust him. And that was yet another reason to hate Snape. 

When Harry could breath again, he pulled his hands away from his face and looked up at Snape. 

"But... How?" Harry's breath hitched, and he knew he sounded like a bewildered child.

The familiar sneer was back on Snape's lips. Somehow this was less comforting than Harry expected.

"I developed the potion for the Death Eaters. Before you were born and saved us all, of course, oh hero of the wizarding world."

Harry's usual resentment at being hated, or loved, for something that he had done as a baby didn't even stir. He chewed his lip, not out of anger, but out of fear. Fear for Draco, fear for himself, fear of what Snape was telling him. Snape seemed to be encouraged by Harry's gesture, however. 

"Crocodilus Lacrimas. Source of the name?" the Potions Master snapped.

Before Harry could stop himself, the student in him answered automatically: "Latin. 'Crocodile Tears.' An idiom that means an insincere exhibition of sorrow."

"Once again, I would be tempted to award points to Gryffindor, were not it patently obvious that you would know all about insincerity, Mr. Potter."

This did raise the temperature a bit. However, instead of goading him into a display of outrage, which was usually how these evenings went, Harry's anger simply focused his attention.

"And Draco takes this potion? And it causes the... effects you described? But... Why?"

"Your first two questions are irritatingly rhetorical, Mr. Potter. And I rather think I'll let you figure out the answer to the final question on your own. Or not. As enlightening as this little chat has obviously been for you, I am afraid that my pedagogical obligations now lie in the realm of marking. You may commence scouring the cauldrons in the workroom. Now." 

Before Harry could even think to retort, he found himself at the oh-so-familiar sink, already turning the tap. He let his hands do the work automatically, not even feeling the icy water that rushed from the dragon's head spout. His brain churned, frantically looked for a solution, for an escape from the horrible situation he hadn't even known he was in. It was intolerable. He had never willingly accepted the laurels of a hero, but he did value his honor. He was a Gryffindor. There was no way he would knowingly torture anyone. Regardless of what they thought they wanted. Tonight he would ascertain whether or not Snape was really, really telling the truth. Then he would do what he had to do.

His time with Draco that night, after the detention, was unprecedented. Oh, Harry had tied Draco up on numerous occasions. Obviously. Gryffindor and Slytherin alike love power games, however different their ultimate goals might be. But this time Harry did not even let Draco speak. He would not be lulled into comfort, or spurred into passion, by the Slytherin's masterful use of language and voice. Harry would determine for himself exactly what was going on with his lover. Words lie. Actions, and reactions, do not. At least that was what the Gryffindor believed.

Harry spent as long as he could convincing himself that Draco's moans, that his stiffness in both body and cock, were the result of pleasure. But really, it was not long before he understood. Harry was a quick study in physical matters. Draco was experiencing some sort of satisfaction from Harry's touch. But it was not the satisfaction of pleasure. Even once Harry realized the truth, he kept testing Draco, with hands and tongue, just to be sure. By the time Harry forced himself to give Draco what the Slytherin wanted, tears were streaming down both of their faces. 

Harry never did forgive himself for not stopping the moment he realized the truth. It made him treat Draco with a rigorous justness and an even greater gentleness, forever after. But that night, when Draco said he was worried about Harry, when Draco threatened to leave Harry and thus gave him an escape route, Harry ran. He ran away as fast as he could. And he didn't look back. He didn't stop until he was ensconced in the Gryffindor tower, in his bed, safe behind the red velvet curtains. 

His roommates barely even heard Harry's nighttime sobs anymore. They had grown accustomed to them, as one grows accustomed to a train that roars by every night. There had been years of nightmares. Dreams, or memories, of the night Harry's parents were killed. The night when Voldemort was defeated once and for all; Harry's infant innocence destroyed and destroying in a green glare. There was no way for Ron, Seamus, Dean or Neville to know that Harry's anguish had changed. That his sobs were now for a different innocence destroyed.

*********************************

It would have never occurred to Harry that he would ever find Snape's presence comforting. And if it had occurred to him, he would have found it a ridiculous thought. But right this minute he felt that he might actually grab onto the Potions professor's hand, and he had to steel himself against such a hopeless gesture. Snape certainly had no desire to comfort or protect him. But still, the man who was looking down at him from the top of the black marble staircase was far more intimidating than Professor Snape had ever been. 

After all, Harry trusted Snape. And even if he hadn't, he knew that Professor Snape valued his position at Hogwarts and would never harm a student. Why the Potions Master valued his position, when he clearly detested teaching, was not something Harry understood. But he was certain that it was true, nevertheless. Harry had no such reason to trust Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy had been, along with Snape, one of the most prominent Death Eaters during Voldemort's uprising. After the self-styled Dark Lord had been defeated, Lucius had claimed that he had been subjected to the Imperius Curse and had no memory of the atrocities with which he had been charged. Something: his acting skills, his bloodline, or his money, had convinced the Wizangamot to pardon him. However, many wizards, Harry included, didn't believe a word of it. In any event, the name of Malfoy still commanded instant respect, fear, and/or loathing throughout the wizarding world.

Harry's feelings about the senior Malfoy currently fell on the fear and loathing side of the question. Harry may not have loved Draco, but he did care for him. And despite Draco's frequent and fervent defenses of his father, or perhaps because of them, Harry didn't think much of Lucius Malfoy. That took care of the loathing. The fear arose from Harry's knowledge of how he had unwittingly mistreated the younger Malfoy. Harry knew from every single encounter he had ever had with either Malfoy that family pride was paramount to them. And now that he had injured Lucius's son... Gryffindor bravery allowed him to face the man, but only a fool knows no fear. And Harry, despite what Snape was hissing in his ear that very moment, was no fool.

"Straighten up, you little fool!" Snape's mouth was finally pressed against Harry's ear, his breath as hot as Harry's imagination. But Harry's faintness had nothing to do with the Potions Master, and everything to do with the wizard who was slowly descending the marble stair. Harry wished that he could disappear, but Snape's hand gripped his arm cruelly and his whispered command made Harry whip his head up. And once he met Lucius's eyes, he couldn't look away. From everything he thought he knew about Lucius Malfoy, he had expected to feel like prey. But instead of feeling like a mouse before a snake, he simply felt... seen.

When Lucius finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he released Harry's gaze and spoke to Professor Snape. Harry suddenly felt bereft.

"Good evening, Severus," Lucius said. Snape simply nodded.

There, the eyes were back on Harry's again. Gray eyes, like Draco's. But while Draco seemed to hide behind his eyes, lost in the gray fog, Lucius's eyes had no such vagueness. Harry realized that he was being addressed, and dragged himself back to an awareness of where he was.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter."

Harry gulped. Professor Snape gave his arm another shake, but Lucius only smiled.

At a glance from Malfoy, Professor Snape let go of Harry's arm.

"Have you come willingly, Mr. Potter?" 

"Yes, sir."

"And will you be content to stay here, while Professor Snape returns to Hogwarts?"

The question was awfully open-ended, Harry realized. But he had agreed, and Snape had convince him that this was the only way to at once atone for his past and prevent future offenses against Draco.

"Yes, sir."

Malfoy laughed. "I should have known better than to believe your complaints about Mr. Potter, Severus. He seems charmingly agreeable to me."

Snape sneered, then Disapparated.

"Ah, Severus never disappoints. Always one for dramatics, isn't he?"

Harry concentrated on keeping his mouth from hanging open. This was so far from what he expected that he suddenly started to wonder if this entire situation was a joke. But when Malfoy captured his gaze again, he looked anything but amused.

"I am pleased with you, Mr. Potter. Since you have come of your own accord, you may stay."

It was a night for surprises. Before that moment, if you had told Harry that he would ever be relieved to stay at Malfoy manor, alone with Lucius Malfoy, he would have laughed hysterically or perhaps challenged you to a duel. But suddenly, the hand that Lucius held out to him seemed like a lifeline. Harry grasped it with all the desperation of a drowning man.

***************************************

He had expected... Well, something quite lurid. Probably involving a dungeon. Chains. And whips. Or at least harsh words.

He had not expected to be savoring a meal unlike any he'd ever had, whilst enjoying a heated debate about Quidditch. After a childhood of near-starvation, Harry loved the homely, hearty meals he found at Hogwarts and at the Burrow. This meal was different - lighter. But every bite was delicious. Harry wasn't even sure what asparagus was, but when scattered, with strawberries, over a salad, the odd-looking lengths were delicious. And the tuna resembled nothing he'd ever had out of a can at the Dursleys'. It was like eating a steak, but a steak that melted on his tongue instead of needing a good chewing. The conversation was equally unlike anything he was used to. Harry hadn't been surprised to learn that Lucius had a private box at each of the principal Quidditch pitches in the country. What amazed him was that Lucius knew the sport inside and out. Harry hadn't realized that Lucius had been the Slytherin seeker whilst he was at Hogwarts, though he supposed it made sense, what with Draco...

Harry went a bit vague when he thought of Draco, and his spoon paused mid-tap above his creme brulee. As if reading the Gryffindor's mind, Malfoy finally spoke of his son.

"I suppose you know, Harry, why Professor Snape brought you here."

Harry froze and fixed his eyes on his plate, spoon still held mid-air. He wasn't sure whether his fear or excitement was paramount. Lucius had called him Harry! And he wanted to talk about Draco! He sat there, motionless, until the silence stretched to a point where he realized that Malfoy expected an answer. He gathered all of his Gryffindor courage once again and met the man's eyes.

"Yes, sir. He was upset about what happened between Draco and me."

"Indeed."

Harry could not speak, nor move, nor swallow. He simply looked into Lucius's eyes, as if he could find absolution there.

Malfoy sighed. 

"You have done Severus a great harm, Harry. You have hurt someone he loves."

Harry's desperation was suddenly cut through with confusion. He had done Snape a great harm?

Lucius noted Harry's confusion, but simply continued in a calm voice.

"How do you think I feel about the situation between my son and you, Harry?"

Harry could only shake his head back and forth, still fixated by Lucius's stare.

"You gave a Malfoy what he wanted, Harry. How could I be anything but pleased by such generosity?"

If Harry hadn't already been seated, he would have fallen over from shock at this statement.

"But Harry, private moments should remain private. I am sure you know to what I am referring. And I am sure that I shall not have to remind you of this fact in the future."

Harry flushed, then went pale. He felt new shame at exploiting Draco's trust, his vulnerability, just to make some sort of point about his own celebrity. He had been so focused on the physical aspects of how he had hurt Draco that he had failed to regret the harm he had done to his lover's pride.

"I do not speak to cause you pain, Harry. And I certainly hope that I shall never again have to speak of any aspect of your... involvement with my son. I expect both of you to behave with the dignity of wizards and of gentlemen in your future dealings. You certainly won't be able to avoid one another. Our world, after all, is a small one. But if you ever cause my son further embarrassment, or give him any more cause for shame..."

"I will never, never hurt Draco." Harry could not hold himself back. He had to speak, to reassure himself as well as Malfoy. "I will never forgive myself for having hurt him, and I would rather die than do it again."

Harry had thought he couldn't become any more surprised that evening. But then Lucius chuckled at his passionate declarations, and simply said, "I'm sure you would, Mr. Potter. But I am sure that will not be necessary." 

Harry was gobsmacked. He simply could not keep his mouth shut. Lucius chuckled again at Harry's expression. Then he arose from the table, crossed over to Harry, and once again held out his hand. And once again, Harry took it.

As Harry lay behind his red velvet curtains that night, one thought kept running through his head. Lucius Malfoy had kissed him goodnight. Harry's shoulders were still stiff from embarrassment, but his lips tingled and he could not stop biting them. Why the bloody hell had Lucius Malfoy kissed him goodnight? He had thought he was going to Malfoy manor for punishment; so that Draco's father could take his rage out on Harry's body. Snape had certainly acted more like someone dragging him to the scaffold than someone dropping him off for a... for a... date? How in the bloody hell had Harry ended up on a date with Draco's father? And why, oh why in the bloody, bloody hell had he enjoyed it so much?

*************************

Harry was in the changing room after Quidditch practice when he felt the snake wriggle. He was sweaty and muddy. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a hot meal. He almost ignored the snake. But then he smiled. They had bathrooms at Malfoy manor, didn't they? He made some vague excuses to his teammates, walked back out onto the pitch, and pulled the small snake out of his jeans pocket. When he placed in on his palm, it crawled to his ring finger, curled around it, and bit its own tail. As the snake melted into a ring, it portkeyed Harry away.

As they walked back to Gryffindor towers, Ron and Ginny Weasley argued about what was going on with their as-good-as-a-brother. 

"I tell, you, Ron, he's got someone new."

"And I tell you, little sister, that he's just happy. Just plain happy now that he's broken it off with Draco. Draco was bad for him, I always said so."

"He's happy, all right, Ron," said Ginny. "I'll give you that."

When Harry finally got back to the Gryffindor dorm that night, Ron was waiting for him in the Common Room. 

Harry gave a violent start when Ron spoke his name.

"Take it easy, mate! It's just me."

"Merlin's beard, Ron, you scared me half to death!"

"Guilty conscience, eh, Harry?"

Ron was just joking, but the look on Harry's face shocked him into a realization.

"Ginny's right! Harry, you have found someone new!"

Harry flushed an even darker shade of red.

"It's not that, Ron..."

"Well, then, what are you doing all the time? You can't hide from family, Harry."

Harry chewed on his lower lip. He didn't want to hide anything from the Weasleys, who were the only real family he had ever known. But he didn't want to talk to Ron about this. He wished that it was Ginny who had waited up. At least he had a chance that she would understand. She was a true romantic, for all her tomboyish ways. But Harry knew that they were all going to find out sooner or later, so there was no point in lying. Even if his Gryffindor honor would allow it. Harry had to admit to himself that he was very, very tempted to take the easy way out here. Instead, he joined Ron on the couch, turned to his best friend, and grabbed his wrists.

"Oi! Harry..."

"I'm not making a pass at you, you great git. I'm just making sure you don't hit me."

Ron stopped struggling and stared at Harry. Harry ignored the gobsmacked expression on Ron's face and plunged onward.

"I've been spending time at Malfoy manor, Ron."

"But... but you can't be! It's over with you and Draco, and he's always here, even when you're..."

"I'm not spending time with Draco."

Harry thought that it would be best to let Ron figure this out on his own. So he waited for the penny to drop, maintaining his firm grip on his friends' wrists. Suddenly Ron's eyes widened, he went pale, and slumped back against the couch, shaking his head.

"No, Harry. NO. You're kidding. You've got to be kidding."

"Are you going to hit me?"

"I should, you idiot. You great, sodding, buggering... "

Harry laughed and dropped Ron's hands. "It's not like that Ron."

Color rushed back to Ron's face, to Harry's relief. Ron's freckles were so startling when he was pale.

"So, you're... Does he want to adopt you then? Really adopt you?"

Now Harry turned pale. "Oh gods, no. It's not like that either." He shuddered. 

"Well, then. Perhaps you should tell me exactly what it's like, mate. Because I'm not following you here."

So Harry explained. Ron knew that Harry's fame was a burden to him, and he knew how lonely Harry was. He knew that despite his and Hermione's love for Harry, and despite the Weasley's acceptance of him as another son, Harry always kept himself somewhat apart. Even his relationship with Draco hadn't seemed to really reach Harry's heart. If anything, Ron's opinion was that the whole Draco thing had just made Harry more withdrawn. Ron tried to keep all that in mind as he forced himself to listen to Harry's description of Lucius Malfoy. It bore no resemblance to anything Ron had ever heard of the man, but he trusted Harry. And this was the most exposed he had ever seen his best friend, and that merited Ron's full attention.

"It's not just that he's rich, Ron. He doesn't just have stuff, though he does have brilliant stuff. Did you know there are invisible cauldrons? You can really see what's going on while you brew, it makes things so much clearer. Ha! Clearer." Harry was babbling. He drew in a deep breath and forced himself to look into Ron's eyes as he continued. "He knows stuff, Ron. He knows everything it seems like, sometimes. And not just about stuff like magic and politics. He's brilliant at Quidditch, and he's seen Muggle movies." Ron couldn't help smirking at that one. "Really!" Harry protested. "You can't understand what it's like to talk to someone who knows about magic and Star Wars... Well, nevermind. But Ron, he understands me. He makes up for so many things I've missed. He knows what I need and he gives it to me before I can ask, not that I would ever ask him for anything. He's been helping me revise for the N.E.W.T.s..." Harry turned his eyes down, at that, of all things. Well, Ron guessed he could understand that. Even Hermione had barely started to revise for the exams, which were six months away.

Ron was trying to understand. He really was.

"So, he's tutoring you? Like a professor?"

Harry flushed. "NO! Not like a professor." He shuddered again. "He's... well, he's the handsomest man I've ever seen, and when he kisses me..."

Ron held up his hands. "Oi! That's enough of that. I understand. Well, I don't understand, but say no more. Please, say no more. Just answer me this, Harry. Are you happy?"

"All I want to do is make him happy, Ron. Can you understand that?"

Ron certainly could not. But for Harry's sake, he pretended. Harry looked happy, and he acted happy, and Ron would have to settle for that. And he would have to explain the situation to the rest of the Weasleys. Ron sighed. The things he did for his best friend...

*****************************

It was New Year's eve when Lucius asked for the first time. Harry supposed that he had started it, but it still took him aback. 

Christmas had gone well. The Weasleys didn't talk about Harry's personal life. That was a huge victory. Every time Fred or George even looked like they might say something, Ron, Ginny or Mrs. Weasley would glare at them and they would actually stop. Mr. Weasley simply pretended to be deaf at those moments. Harry had rarely been so grateful to his "family." And that was saying a lot, as these were the first people (whom he could remember) who had ever shown him any love. 

He would hate to lose them, and he was fervently happy that they didn't seem to be inclined to make him choose between them and Lucius. He knew that the Malfoys and the Weasleys were long-time enemies. He had known that from the first time he had ridden the train to Hogwarts. But Harry had no desire to be Juliet, as he had confided to Lucius before leaving for the Burrow. Lucius had read his Shakespeare, of course, and had promised to be no Romeo. He had also assured Harry that the Weasleys would be happy as long as Harry was happy. Harry had been surprised and pleased to hear Lucius say something so kind about the Weasleys, but he had hardly dared to hope that Lucius might be right.

So Harry was in a good mood as the new year began. He was leaning back against Lucius's chest, on a settee in front of a roaring fire. He had just surfaced from one of Lucius's kisses. The kisses that drew Harry out of himself, that turned him into waves of warm water. He was feeling bold, and before he could think about it he blurted it out.

"Lucius? I was wondering if... if maybe we could, um, fool around a little bit?"

Lucius's arms may have tightened their grasp around Harry a fraction, but the moment was so fleeting that Harry thought he must have imagined it. Lucius dipped his face and placed a kiss on Harry's head. 

"You have certainly noticed, Harry, that I am a man."

Harry started upright and turned to Lucius, with confusion and hurt in his eyes.

Lucius chuckled. "I am not making fun of you, Harry. I am simply pointing out that I am not a boy. I do not, 'fool around.' If I want something, or someone, I want them wholly and completely. I do not play games, Harry. I play for keeps."

Harry blushed. "I didn't mean that it was a game..."

"I know what you meant. And Harry, before I can give you an answer to your intriguing question, you must give me an answer to mine. Do you love me Harry? Will you marry me?"

For the first time since he had first entered Malfoy manor, Harry suddenly felt like prey. 

Despite himself, he cried out, "What can I say?"

"Say yes or no without fear, Harry."

"No. I'm sorry, Lucius, but no."

Lucius simply nodded, pulled Harry to him, and settled him back against his chest.

"Then that shall also be my answer, Harry."

The next time Harry saw Lucius he was nervous. He didn't know what he would say if Lucius brought up his, well, their, questions again. But everything seemed normal. They had a late dinner, then went out to the hothouse, where Lucius helped Harry practice his Charms work. After finishing Professor Flitwick's homework assignment, they paused for a moment. Suddenly Lucius plucked a rose, ripped the flower from the stem, and threw the petals up in the air over Harry's head. they had barely begun their descent when Harry charmed them into red and golden butterflies. He laughed as they whirled around his head, and some landed on his shoulders and hair.

Lucius looked at him for a long moment. Then he spoke.

"Do you love me, Harry? Will you marry me?"

"Oh! No, Lucius. No."

"Since you will not, good-night, Harry."

And he turned and left the greenhouse.

This happened every time they met, now. They would eat, talk, practice magic. Lucius was as kind and patient as always, but at the end of every encounter he would ask the same questions. Do you love me. Will you marry me. Harry always said no. 

There were no more kisses. Lucius did not hold his hand. He did not hug Harry to his chest. Every time the Slytherin said good-night to him, Harry was sure that he would not call him again. But a few days would pass, the snake would wriggle, and Harry would answer. Even though he knew how each evening would end, he always answered Lucius's call. 

Harry thought he might go mad from frustration. Why were they doing this? It was ridiculous. He was seventeen. He wasn't ready to get married. And when he was, he would marry someone his own age. He should be sneaking up to the astronomy tower for a quick shag with some willing Hufflepuff, not driving himself into a sexual frenzy and then being denied by Lucius Malfoy, of all people. But somehow Harry never ignored the snake's call. And on the evenings when Lucius did not call for him, Harry stayed in the Gryffindor Common Room. He only ventured out to the Library to study with Hermione and Ron. There wasn't anyone else he wanted to see. 

***************************************

With Lucius's help, Harry had been studying harder than he ever had before. He also had confidence in his abilities like never before. Lucius didn't expect things from him because he was "The Boy Who Lived." He pushed him to learn how to do things through trial and error, and never let him give up or slide by. Harry's classmates teased him about becoming a swot, but his professors simply believed that Harry was finally growing up. They may have heaved secret sighs of relief, but they did not question Harry's new work ethic. Nor did they draw too much attention to it. Except, of course, for Professor Snape.

During Potions class, Harry used meditation techniques that Lucius had taught him. This let him ignore Snape's gibes and rants and brew more successfully than he ever had. His classmates were so used to Snape taking points from Harry for no reason whatsoever that they barely noticed any more. By the end of March, however, Professor Snape had clearly reached some sort of boiling point. 

Harry and Ron had finished their potion and were waiting for Snape to come evaluate it. They were speaking very quietly about the upcoming Chudley Cannons match in Stirling. Harry was trying to convince Ron to come to the match with him and Lucius.

"It'll be brilliant, mate! You can't believe the view from the private boxes, and there's an endless buffet of hot snacks. You could finally try those buffalo wings I've been telling you about..."

Suddenly Ron and Harry realized that the entire class had fallen silent and was staring at them. They both froze, and then carefully turned around. There they found Professor Snape, who looked as though he would gleefully draw and quarter the two of them right in front of the whole class.

"If you two gentlemen can spare a moment from from discussing your leisure activities..."

"Yes, sir." The two boys spoke as one, in a hurried rush.

"Detention. Tonight. Seven o'clock. Mr. Weasley, you will serve your detention with Mr. Filch in the attics," Ron's face turned white. The attics were full of spiders, and Filch delighted in making students suffer. It was going to be a long night. "And Mr. Potter, you will serve your detention with me, in my quarters." Harry's face turned red. Only Slytherins went into Snape's quarters. It was never open to students from other houses. What was Snape going to do with him? 

The two boys were so petrified that they didn't even notice when Snape took ten points from Gryffindor. They didn't even register it when he said, "Your potion is perfect, so it is clear that you cheated." Hermione noticed, however, and her eyes narrowed as she regarded her boyfriend and her best friend. She was going to have to have a talk with Ron. And then have a talk with Harry.

*********************************

That night Harry stood in front of the door to Snape's quarters. He had known just where they were. The Slytherins made no bones about the fact that their head of house spent far more time with them than any of the other heads did with their charges. Harry and Ron had always smirked, and put it down to the fact that Snape had no life. But secretly Harry had always been jealous. Professor McGonagell didn't seem to live in a social whirl, but she was only around when you didn't want her to be. It had always struck him as curious that the Slytherins, who were supposedly so self-centered, seemed to have the strongest support system of any of the students at Hogwarts. 'Well,' he thought, squaring his shoulders, 'maybe it's because Gryffindors don't need any help. We are just fine as we are.' As he raised his hand to knock on Snape's door, it swung open.

It stood in the corner of the room. Harry eyed it warily, and unconsciously moved as far away from it as he could.   
He had hoped to never see Snape's pensieve again. The situation must be really bad for Snape to let him anywhere near the thing. Unfortunately, Snape was moving directly towards it. He turned and motioned Harry forwards with an actual growl. Harry had never seen Professor Snape at a loss for words before. It was terrifying. It made Harry's mouth go dry and his knees tremble. 

Snape pulled a memory out of his own head. It swirled in the pensieve, like a miniature galaxy. Without a word, Snape crooked a finger to draw Harry nearer. Harry took a deep breath, and stepped towards his professor. Snape grabbed Harry's arm and nearly threw him into the pensieve.

He was in Malfoy manor. In the dining room. Snape was there. He was pacing. He looked impossibly young. His hair was not greasy, it was glossy. His skin was olive, not yellow. He was surprisingly, ascetically, beautiful. His face betrayed an agony which Harry would never have imagined Snape being capable of feeling. Suddenly the doors to the room flew open, and Snape's features immediately snapped into a sneer that foretold what he would look like seventeen years hence. People filed in. They wore voluminous, featureless black robes and their faces were covered with masks. The masks were made of metal: some silver, some black, some bronze. Intricate designs swirled over the surface of the masks, and the mouths were horrific. Some grinned in a skeletal rictus, some were open in a silent howl, some bared teeth as sharp as knives. Human eyes were visible through the eye holes of the masks, but they glittered inhumanly.

After these abominations took seats around the table, two maskless men entered. One was Lucius Malfoy. If Snape was a good-looking youth, Lucius was magnificent. He had Draco's coloring and luminosity, but none of his delicacy. Draco had always looked like a elf to Harry. Not a house elf, but how he imagined Legolas from The Lord of the Rings novels would look. He called Draco "elf" to annoy him, but secretly it was a compliment. But where Draco was elegant, Lucius was leonine. His nose and chin were strong, but blunt. His hair was full and golden, not white as Harry knew it. He looked like a prince in a fairy tale. The man walking beside him was attractive in a cold, classic way. He looked like a mannequin, like he was made out of plastic. Harry shivered at the sight of him.

The plastic man sat at the head of the table, and Lucius sat at his right hand. Snape took the empty seat at the man's left hand. Lucius was smiling, while Snape still had that sneer on his face. They were obviously waiting for something. Harry was on pins and needles, even though he knew that whatever was going to happen had already happened, years before. All eyes were turned to the doors, which had closed behind Lucius and the strange man. Harry clenched his fists and watched the door as well. Time seemed to spread out, and all Harry could hear was his own ragged breathing. Then the doors slammed open.

A brutal looking man dragged a woman through the door. She had a rough sack over her head, but somehow still managed to hold herself with dignity. Her clothing was dirty and torn, but even Harry could tell it had been expensive. Harry turned to look at Snape and Lucius. Snape's face was frozen into that sneer, and he wasn't beautiful anymore. Lucius's lips were tight, and his eyes looked panicked. He sat still and silent, however. Harry turned to face the woman just in time to see the man pull the sack off of her head. It was Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry had seen a picture of Draco's mother. Draco had one. It was creased and faded, because Draco had to keep it hidden from his father. He had told Harry that his mother had died in childbirth, and Harry had gathered that Lucius had never gotten over it. The way he treated Draco convinced Harry, at least, that the man blamed Draco for Narcissa's death. Harry had thought it one of the things that drew him and Draco together. Both of their mothers had died so that they could live. Harry's mind boggled at the scene before him. He took a moment to wonder if Snape had manufactured this "memory," if it was all a lie. But he had never heard of a Pensieve being used in that way before. This was Snape's memory. 

Suddenly Snape spoke. It was the first time anyone had spoken during this entire memory and his voice made Harry jump, even thought it was smooth as silk.

"My Lord, surely there has been some mistake."

Lord? Lord Voldemort? Harry had always pictured the Dark Lord as being terrifying, horrific, not as looking like an investment banker or a perfume model. Then Voldemort spoke.

"Lucius."

His voice chilled Harry's blood. He shivered and hugged himself as Voldemort continued.

"It has come to my attention that your wife is... insufficiently dedicated to our cause."

Harry looked at Lucius. Surely he would defend Narcissa? But Lucius sat as still as a statue. Snape looked as though he would speak again. But after a moment, he simply sneered again and clasped his hands together, resting them on the table.

Finally, Lucius answered Voldemort's implicit question.

"I'm sure you are mistaken, my Lord. My wife is completely devoted to me. She has just given birth to my heir."

"Yes, Lucius. She is completely devoted to you. I require my followers to be completely loyal to me."

"But certainly, my Lord, you do not doubt my loyalty..."

Voldemort interrupted Lucius. 

"I am sure you will never give me reason to doubt, Lucius. So now I will need you to kill your wife. As you just pointed out, she has provided you with an heir. Now your mutual devotion, while charming, is a threat to your focus on our cause."

Lucius stood up. Voldemort grasped his left arm. Lucius looked down at the Dark Lord's hand on his arm. When he looked up, his eyes were cold. He met Narcissa's eyes. She gave a sharp, tiny nod. 

"Avada..."

Harry felt a sharp yank on the back of his neck and he was pulled up and away.

*********************************

"So he actually killed Narcissa..." Hermione was thoughtfully echoing Harry's story. Ron looked nauseated.

"Snape said that was the last day that Lucius was ever happy. Until..."

"Until you." Hermione took the words out of Harry's mouth.

"Have you gone spare, Hermione?! He killed his wife."

"It doesn't seem like he had much choice, Ron. He obviously did it to save Draco. Do you think that Voldemort would have let any of the Malfoys live if Lucius had defied him?"

"But now he wants to marry Harry. And then he probably wants to kill him!"

"Ron. You need to calm down. Why would he want to kill Harry? Think about it. Harry killed Voldemort. He destroyed the person who ruined Lucius's life! He probably wanted to marry Harry from that moment on!"

"That's... that's disturbing, Hermione," Harry interrupted.

"I don't mean that he wanted to marry a baby! I just mean that even if you weren't so... well, wonderful," Hermione blushed and paused for a few moments, while Ron glowered. Hermione continued, "I just mean that Mr. Malfoy has every reason to be grateful to Harry, and probably just wants to, you know, repay him..."

"Hermione! I'm not for sale."

"NO, Harry. That's not what I meant. It's just that, well, I know that Ron's family has treated you like a son over the years, but you've never really had a family of your own. And I just think you deserve to be happy. Whatever it looks like. Whatever anyone thinks."

Ron snorted. "And what in the world, Hermione, makes you think that Lucius Malfoy," he spat the name, "would make Harry happy?"

"You did, Ron. You told me that Harry's nightmares had stopped."

Both boys looked at her, speechless. Harry hadn't even realized it, but Hermione was right. He hadn't had the nightmares since New Year's. Since... since the first time Lucius had proposed to him. At that moment, he knew what he had to do.

*********************************

"Do you, Harry James Potter, pledge yourself to Lucius Malfoy, in body and magic, with all that you have and all that you are, until death does part you?"

"I do. Yes. I do."

*********************************

Harry was still worried about Draco. He hadn't looked well when he had stumbled off after the ceremony. Lucius didn't even have to ask what was bothering him.

"Severus will take care of him, Harry. He is no longer bound by their student/teacher relationship, and he has always loved Draco in a way that no one else ever has."

Harry knew better than to even think of his own relationship with Draco, let alone mention it. And he did trust Snape. Draco would get the help he needed, he was sure. He let go of his last bit of tension and relaxed completely against Lucius's chest.

"Are you ever going to tell me where we are going for our honeymoon, Lucius?"

"I think, my husband, that your anticipation is too sweet for me to willingly answer your question. But I suppose it is time. We are going to a place where you will never have to worry, never make a decision, never be a hero. I will take care of you utterly and completely in this place. Not just during our honeymoon, but whenever we may go there in the future. All that you will ever need to do in this place is to trust and love me."

"Always, Lucius."

Harry felt Lucius's arms grip tightly around his chest. Then he felt the even tighter squeeze of side-along Apparition. When he caught his breath and opened his eyes, what he saw made him smile.

They were in the dungeons of Malfoy manor. 

When he looked up he saw that Lucius was smiling, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is no Disney story. 
> 
> Read "Beauty and the Beast" here: http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/beautybeast/index.html. 
> 
> It is actually pretty similar to the Disney story, minus the talking furniture. Oh, and Belle dooms her father by requesting a simple rose, which he plucks from the Beast's garden.


	3. Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius never listens when Harry says "stop."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When my cousin read this series, she asked why Lucius didn't have a safeword. My reaction: "Bwah ha ha!" But seriously, folks, these stories are not about BDSM. There is bondage, domination, sadism and masochism in these stories. However, the characters are not formally involved in contractual, consensual BDSM relationships. They are playing dangerous games that could get someone killed. This series is NOT meant to be an example of BDSM, which is a clearly defined lifestyle choice for many people. Somehow I just can't see Death Eaters playing by those rules. Or any rules at all, for that matter.

"Stop."

"No."

"Lucius. I'm serious. Stop. Now."

Lucius Malfoy smirked and continued what he was doing.

"When you smirk like that, you look just like Severus."

"If you're trying to make me angry, I am obliged to warn you that it will not work."

"Not even a little bit?"

"Not even a little bit, Harry."

"But I really, really want you to stop."

"May I remind you that you agreed that I made the decisions in the dungeon."

...

"What if I promise to let you..."

"I have made my decision, Harry."

"So there's nothing I can say..."

"Nothing."


	4. Screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry always resists.

The dungeons at Malfoy manor were soundproof. So Harry could scream as loudly as he wanted. Not that Harry was quiet in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the gardens. Wherever the mood struck. But he only really screamed in the dungeons.

He knew that Lucius loved hearing it. And he loved making Lucius happy. But it was humiliating to lose control, so Harry always resisted. He always said, "Stop." Lucius never stopped. Never.

Earlier, Harry had tried to argue with Lucius. He hadn't bothered trying to escape the shackles. He knew from experience that wouldn't work. He just screamed.


	5. Third Time's the Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never, ever stop.

The first time was always brilliant. That's what made Harry so eager to get back to the dungeons, even though he knew that he'd be screaming by the end. He never knew what Lucius was going to come up with next. The most unlikely things became erotic when Lucius did them. 

When he recovered from the moans that Lucius inevitably drew from him, he always still had the wits to argue about the second time. To that he always said "No." It never made any difference. But not the first time. Harry had never said "No" then. Not even once.

**************

The second time always left Harry screaming. It always embarrassed him. He never got used to it. A hero wasn't supposed to scream. But wasn't that was the whole point? When they had married, Lucius had promised Harry that he would never have to be a hero down here, in the dungeons. And Lucius made good on that promise, again and again.

It wasn't that Harry was arrogant. He just didn't like losing control. Lucius was already so much more than Harry. Richer. Smarter. More handsome. More experienced. Older.

When Lucius made Harry scream, it broke him. He loved it.

***************

Harry never said "No" the third time. He simply didn't have the breath. After the second time Lucius always healed Harry's vocal chords, which were raw from screaming. But Harry would not speak. He would not scream. He just panted.

There was nothing he needed to say. "No" at this point would be hypocrisy. "Yes" would be hideously obvious. "Please" was understood.

Harry's body said the only thing he wanted Lucius to know at these times. As the pleasure and pain that Lucius gave rebuilt Harry, Harry's body said nothing but "I love you," over and over and over again.


	6. Spun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your eyes roll back in your head. Severus makes a note in his laboratory journal.

You are spun silver. The potion draws you out to the finest line imaginable, yet you do not break. Severus is too clever for that. Is he clever enough to realize that pulling a loose thread will unravel the whole? You have asked this question deep in your soul, but it never makes it to your lips. It doesn't even make it to your mind, most days.

"Draco?"  
...

"Draco. Is that better?"

"Ungh."

Your eyes roll back in your head. Severus makes a note in his laboratory journal.  
...

Sometime later:

"No more potions, Severus."

"No, Draco. Not tonight."


	7. Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finest thread imaginable.

But, gods, when he pulls you back together. That's when you shine like the stars, like the air. His body pounds you like Vulcan making Pandora from a lump of clay. Like her, you are beautiful and foolish. Like her, you don't know just how foolish you are.

And you don't care. You have Severus's hands, pinching you. Severus's mouth, breathing life into you. Severus's cock, completing you. Severus's eyes, pinning you to the ground, the bed, the wall. So that you can continue to exist. So that next time, he can draw you out to the finest thread imaginable.


	8. Figs to Fill Your Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Lucius want Draco to come home. Severus is heartbroken. Draco is not sure what he wants.

"He is not yours, Severus."

"But you promised."

Severus must be desperate to be so transparent. Lucius was impressed despite himself.

"Indeed." Lucius paused. "I promised him to you if you brought Harry to me."

Severus did not deign to reply to this. He simply continued to stare at Lucius. His hands did not even twitch.

It was a pity that Lucius had already made up his mind.

"And you promised to take care of Draco. I respected you enough not to insist on an Unbreakable Vow. And this is how you repay me."

"I am..."

Lucius interrupted, "You are not. Not to my satisfaction."

It was a difficult task to silence Severus Snape. Lucius only needed to raise his chin slightly to do so. Severus's shame did the rest.

*******************************

Draco looked terrible. Still beautiful, of course. Suffering had always heightened the impressiveness of his patrician features. But now, chiseled and ravaged fought it out, and ravaged was winning. Today, his gray eyes were stormy, not eerily blank as they had been, sometimes, when he had been with Harry. More than sometimes. Now, their calm surface was disturbed. The eyes that burned in Draco's gaunt face made Harry frightened for his friend.

Harry said nothing about this to Draco, of course. It'd be rude and, thus, disappointing to Lucius, and it would be hurtful to Draco. And Harry had vowed never to hurt Draco again. He had needed no magic to seal this vow. His own shame assured that he would die rather than break his oath.

Harry simply hugged the frail boy and led him into the breakfast room. Harry didn't even wince at the feeling of Draco's bones, grown thin as a bird's. Neither did he lessen the pressure of the hug. Draco deserved his dignity, at all times. Harry pressed Draco's shoulder to place him in a chair. 

"Have some tea, Draco. I'll bring us some fruit." Harry would not have Draco served by house-elves. Not today. Draco was family, and he needed to be reminded of that.

The spread of fruit on the buffet was obscene, in both quantity and quality. There were apples, cherries, melons, raspberries, downy peaches, mulberries, dewberries, pineapples, blackberries, apricots, strawberries, grapes fresh from the vine, pomegranates, dates, pears, damsons, bilberries, currants, gooseberries, barberries, and figs to fill your mouth. There were no citrons from the South. Harry was no stranger to Draco's joke about lemons and lemonade, and this was no time for irony.

Harry filled a golden plate, choosing the plumpest and choicest fruits. Muggles, or even wizards, could buy no such in any town. These had fed on ancient magic, their hungry roots sunk deep into the ground in the hothouses at Malfoy Manor. Draco had grown up on such fare. Was it any wonder that the homely food of Hogwarts had never appealed to him?

Draco simply stared at the plate that Harry carefully set before him. He hadn't even drunk a sip of the tea. Harry swore under his breath when he realized the mistake. Lady Grey, while it was Draco's favorite, was not the right choice for today. Harry banished the entire tea set with a quick flick of his wand. There. Now there was not even the hint of the scent of lemons.

Draco looked up at Harry, seeming to notice him for the first time that morning.

"What are they going to do with me?" he asked.

This question made Harry want to cry. Could this be Draco Malfoy? The boy who bent and bent and yet never bowed? What had that bastard Snape done to him? Harry didn't realize that it wasn't Severus Snape about whom his friend was worried.

"I am going to take care of you, Draco. Nothing will happen that you don't want to happen." Harry didn't add that some things that Draco wanted to happen would certainly not happen. For now, he just wanted to get some food into the wasted boy who sat beside him, upright and brittle, blinking in the sun.

Harry plucked a fig from the heavy, golden plate. Harry held the fruit in his palm, squeezing the base as he plucked off the stem. Dry-mouthed, Draco watched Harry roll the fruit once in his palm, his fingers Quidditch-nimble. Draco watched helplessly as Harry fingered the utensils laid out on the table. He choose a small, sharp, silver knife. Harry put the fruit down and sliced it from stem to base in one quick motion. As the fruit fell open, the red pulp and small yellow seeds inside brimmed against the edges of the cut skin. As one drop of juice trickled down the side of the fruit, Draco's mouth fell open. Harry had always beaten Draco to the snitch, and some things never change. The Gryffindor took advantage of Draco's momentary loss of control and stuffed the Slytherin's mouth with the fruit.

Draco spluttered, and Harry put a gentle hand over his mouth.

"Shhh... It's ok. Don't choke. It's good. Just relax." Harry's other hand stroked Draco's hair, as if to settle a nervous foal.

Draco didn't fight Harry. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, and focused on the fig in his mouth. It had been a long time since he had had fresh fruit. Hogwarts' boiled veg did not compare. He decided, as he had so many times before, to simply let go and enjoy the experience. Once Harry realized that Draco wasn't going to resist, he removed his hand from Draco's mouth. The hand on Draco's hair slid down to cup the back of his head. Draco leaned his head back into Harry's hand and bit down.

Draco pushed his tongue against the soft, supple skin of the fig, and the pulp burst across his palate. He swallowed, then caught the edge of the fig's skin between his front teeth. He used his tongue to milk every drop of the pulp down his throat. Then he chewed the spent, leathery skin. Draco swallowed again, opened his eyes, and laughed. Harry laughed, too, and bent down to place a soft kiss on Draco's lips.

Then the boys fell upon the fruit. They sucked globes of all colors: yellow, red, and deep purple. The juices ran down their chins, sweeter than honey from the rock, clearer than water. How should such delicate flavor cloy with overuse? They sucked and sucked until their lips were sore, then flung the emptied rinds away. At last, spent, they flung themselves onto the divan. 

Harry pulled Draco back against his chest and asked, "Did you miss me?"

Draco nodded.

"Then come and kiss me." Harry placed a hand under Draco's chin and lifted the Slytherin's mouth to his for a kiss. He whispered an incantation, almost too low for the other boy to hear: "Eat me, drink me, love me; Draco, make much of me."

Draco's shrunken eyes dropped tears like rain after a long drought. Shaking with anguish, fear, and pain, he kissed and kissed the Gryffindor with a hungry mouth. Harry turned the larger boy to face him. Draco devoured all the juice that covered Harry's face and neck like syrup. As the suckling slowed, then stopped, Harry nested Draco's head under his chin and held his friend tightly. 

The boys lay on the divan like two blossoms on one stem. Like two flakes of new-fallen snow. Like two wands of ivory meant for awful kings. One tipped with alabaster, the other with ebony. Cheek to cheek, and breast to breast, they slept.

******************************

When Draco awoke, Harry was holding something. It was a pomegranate: its torn skin showing the glistening red arils cradled by the white pulp membranes. 

"Draco. You know that I will always stand beside you. To fetch you if you go astray. To lift you if you totter down. To strengthen you whilst you stand."

Draco looked at the pomegranate, its arils shining like jewels, like fire, like blood. He raised his eyes, still red from weeping, to Harry's.

"I know, brother. But I love Severus. I do."

Harry thought, nodded, and then fed Draco the pomegranate seeds. But only six of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story uses images from Christina Rossetti's poem "The Goblin Market." You can read it here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=174262. 
> 
> It also references the story of Persephone, Hades, and Demeter.

**Author's Note:**

> This tale is based on Hans Christian Anderson's "The Little Mermaid," which can be read here: http://hca.gilead.org.il/li_merma.html. 
> 
> If you are only familiar with Ariel, allow me to give you a quick synopsis of the original tale: The youngest daughter of the Sea King falls in love with a statue of a boy carved out of white rock, which fell from a ship. On her 15th birthday, she is pierced all over with decorations, and is allowed to rise to the surface. There she saves the prince’s life and falls in love with him. She makes a bargain with a sea witch. She will become human, but her tongue will be cut out and every step on land will feel as though she is walking on knives. The little mermaid becomes the prince’s favorite slave. When he marries a princess, the little mermaid turns into sea foam.


End file.
